


Like father like son

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: When one door closes, another opens.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Like father like son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MathClassWarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

The door puts up an admirable fight, refusing to relinquish its post as sentry in the frame without the bribery of Prompto's shoulder thrown against it four times. When it does give way it's with a tortured groan, shuddering inward on rusted hinges and he half-expects a cloud of dust to spit out around them.

_Or worse_ , given the general state of the city. Daemons hadn't been known as the sort to be stopped by _locked doors_ , after all. But no, no claws lash for their legs, no fangs at their throats, just the murky gloom of a house left alone too long, power out and heating dead.

He breathes in, stale regret filling his lungs, and wonders how Prompto can stand it, the stench of a home left abandoned and a thousand words lingering in the air, heavy and left unsaid. What memories linger here for him? What childhood can he recall in the aging paint and peeling wallpaper? Prompto advances and Noctis follows, torch too bright on the lines of tension running up his back. Or maybe they're easy to see because Noctis knows what to look for, knows most of his partner's tells by now unchanged by a decade of death and decay, maybe he's not so blind on what to expect after all.

There's a chair askew in the kitchen formation, not quite tucked in right. There's a newspaper spread on the table, old and yellow and _gross_. A solitary cup on the draining board (and for the lack of black, fuzzy life making home on the ceramic he's _so very fucking thankful)_ , one of the last markers of a life once lived here. A visual cue that here, at least, Prompto's departure was the only one. Had his parents come back _at all?_

The rest of the house is much the same, devoid of anyone's input but his. Absentee parents, gone so long he packed away all the toiletries but his own toothbrush and body wash. Beds made, curtains closed, clothes all ironed to perfection and folded _just so_ in the drawers.

They shouldn't have come, he thinks. This can only do more harm than good. Prompto's parents, the people who _chose_ to adopt him, put pen to paper and signed along dotted lines for him, they... never came back to see if he'd survived. Not note, no number to call, no address to visit _"on the chance you're reading this, son."_ Even he'd received something more akin to _care_ from his Dad, and only because that was one hot mess of _save the world, kiddo, just make sure you don't die before then_. But _this_... this is just cruelty wrapped up in cheap paper and frayed string.

The silence is deafening and eventually he has to break it, uncertain of the stony expression on Prompto's face and the empty eyes staring at nothing and everything at once, half aware and there but also _not_.

"D'you - d'you think they survived?" The city's fall, the daemons, the darkness, the world falling apart around them.

"I don't care," Prompto replies, oh so cold, and summons one particular gun from the Armiger.

The _Quicksilver_. His mother's gun. His chosen inheritance when he'd turned his back on this empty home, set down with a note of finality when he eventually cycles back to the kitchen and its innocent table, stride all agitated aggression wrapped in hunched shoulders and tight fists.

He _does_ care. Maybe too much. Noctis doesn't call him on his lie.

"I only came to say goodbye."

* * *

_Like father like son_ \- he doesn't return.


End file.
